as she dared, throwing the rear Stinger battery in the face of the Indian fighter. At the same time, the Stinger began firing even though it couldn’t possibly have locked on its target yet.
The Levitow began to shake. Tracers were popping to its right.
“Going for the coast!” Breanna shouted, her words intended for Zen. “Stewart—what’s our status?”
END GAME
403
“Bandit One breaking off. Two is still behind us.”
Breanna started to push the nose of the Megafortress forward, wanting to increase her speed and give Zen some room to work with as he went for the other fighter. As she did, the Megafortress started to flail to the side, and within seconds she was fighting a yaw.
ZEN GOT TWO LONG BURSTS INTO BANDIT ONE, ENOUGH TO
draw smoke from her tailpipe. He let the fighter go, turning to try and get some shots on the other one. Bandit Two rolled away, just as a hail of air mines exploded behind the Megafortress.
As Zen followed the Indian plane downward, he caught a glimpse of the damaged EB–52. It was much worse than he had thought—the right wing had several large cracks running through it, with gaps big enough to see the foam protection for the fuel tanks. The starboard tailplane had been chewed up; less than a quarter of it remained.
Bandit Two, still concentrating on the Megafortress, swung into position to fire his heat-seekers. Tucking his nose down, Zen got the Sukhoi in the middle of his crosshairs and sent a stream of bullets across its wings, across its fuselage, across the burning hulk he turned the plane into.
“Scratch Bandit Two,” he told Dork, pulling off. “I’m going to bird-dog over the coast.”
It was then that he finally noticed that the Megafortress was moving back and forth in the air, each swing a little stronger.
DESPERATE TO CONTROL THE SHIP, BREANNA HAD STEWART
dial back power to engine one as she tried to rebalance her aircraft. It helped, but it also cost more airspeed. The water, at least, was just ahead, beyond a thick line of factories and boats.
“Radar—Top Plate—there’s a patrol boat off shore,” said Stewart. “Correct that—a frigate. They’ll have Geckos.”
404
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
“Gecko” was the NATO code word for SA-N-4s. The missiles would be potent under any circumstance, but the Megafortress would be an easy target now.
“Where are they?”
“Ten miles ahead.”
“ECMs.” Breanna had the plane back almost completely under control, the yaw reduced to a wobble. Her altitude was now below fifteen thousand feet. Forget the missiles, she thought, they’d be low enough for the antiaircraft guns by the time they got close to the frigate. “I’m going to go north,” she said. “We need to get some distance between us and that ship.”
As she prepared to bank, the Megafortress abruptly dropped thirty feet.
ZEN TURNED THE FLIGHTHAWK BACK TOWARD THE MEGA-fortress. As he came close, he saw a chunk of the right wing’s skin fly off, pried loose by the plane’s violent shakes and the wind’s ravenous appetite. He couldn’t tell for certain, but he thought the cracks he’d noticed before were longer.
They weren’t going to make it.
“Tell Breanna to select the view from Hawk Three,” he told Dork.
BREANNA ALTERNATELY WRESTLED AND COAXED THE AIRPLANE, knowing it was a losing battle. The only question was where they were going to crash.
She preferred ditching at sea, where the shot-up plane wouldn’t kill any civilians when it crashed. It would also be arguably better to bail there, since they might have a chance of being picked up by a U.S. ship or even the Osprey, rather than the Indian authorities.
“All right, crew, here’s what we’re going to do—we’re not going to make it much farther. We have six ejection seats and eight people. I’m going to go out with a parachute from the Flighthawk deck. We’ll draw straws for the other place.”
“I volunteer,” said Stewart.
END GAME
405
“I’m sure everyone will volunteer,” she said. “That’s why we’re drawing straws.”
ZEN HAD ALREADY DECIDED WHAT HE WAS GOING TO DO WHEN
Dork passed the word. He turned the Flighthawk over to the computer, then pulled off his helmet.
“Doesn’t make any sense for me to use the ejection seat.
I have nothing left to protect,” he said. “I’ll take my chances dropping.”
“But Captain Stockard said—”
“I outrank everyone aboard this aircraft, including my wife,” said Zen, pushing himself up out of the seat. “Besides, I’m a much better swimmer than anyone else here. I can make it to the coast if I have to. You guys won’t. Yo, Bullet, this chair’s for you. Grab a brain bucket and saddle up.”
Aboard the Shiva ,
in the northern Arabian Sea
0706
MEMON SAW ADMIRAL SKANDAR MOUTHING THE WORDS BEfore he heard them, as if he were watching an out-of-sync motion picture.
“You are ordered to abandon ship,” said the admiral calmly. “I repeat. Abandon ship.”
The ship’s fantail was now well out of the water, and the list to starboard so pronounced that Memon could see only the water outside the ship. He’d managed to get to his feet but gone no farther since the first explosion. He had no idea how much time had passed; it seemed both an eternity and a wink.
Down below, one of the armament stores had caught fire, and weapons cooked off with furious bangs. The explosions seemed fiercer than those caused by the American missiles, more violent and treacherous, as if the ship were being torn up by demons.
The ship’s crew began moving in slow motion, following 406
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
routines established during drills they’d hoped never to perform in real life. One by one the Defense minister bid them farewell.
I am so much a coward, thought Memon, that I cannot even move. I deserve to die a coward’s death.
“You must abandon ship too,” Skandar told Memon.
“Go. Save yourself.”
“I will stay,” said Memon. His throat was dry; the words seemed to trip in it.
Was it the coward’s way to save himself? He wanted to live, and yet he could not move.
“It is your duty to carry on the battle,” said Skandar. “I am an old man. It is my turn to die.”
There was no question that Skandar was brave, and Memon knew himself to be a coward. Yet their fates were the same. Here they were, together on the bridge, stripped bare of everything but nerve and fear.
“Admiral. You must live to help us rebuild and fight again.”
Skandar did not answer.
“Admiral?”
The sound of metal twisting and breaking under the pressure of water filled the compartment.
Memon wanted to live. Yet he could not move.
Skandar turned away and looked out through the broken glass at the sea. “In the next life, I will be a warrior again,”
he said.
Before Memon could answer, the deck collapsed below them, and he and Admiral Skandar plunged into the howling bowels of the burning ship.
Aboard the Abner Read,
in the northern Arabian Sea
0706
STORM STRUGGLED TO WARD OFF THE PAIN AS THE CHINESE
aircraft began their attack from thirty miles off—too far for END GAME
407
their radars to lock on the slippery ship. They were relying on the guidance systems in their missiles to lock as they approached the target.
There were four J-13s, each armed with four cruise missiles. The Abner Read was an awesome warship—but she wasn’t invincible. In simulated trials the ship had managed to shoot down seven out of eight missiles in a massed attack. More than eight missiles, and the systems and men running them were overwhelmed. His strategy would be to push the odds as close to his favor as possible.